


President "Monroe"

by Sally_Port



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:22:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Port/pseuds/Sally_Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sebastian Monroe had come to his senses slightly earlier. . .what might have happened to the Monroe Republic</p>
            </blockquote>





	President "Monroe"

“What have I done?”

Miles stood, feeling utterly helpless as he watched his best friend – his brother – on his knees, tears welling in his eyes like he was a frightened child. The odd thing was that – in his way, Bass was a frightened child, deep down. Most people just couldn’t see past the dead-faced façade of the cold eyes and snapping flags.

Miles hated the flags.

They’d become a symbol of how far Bass had fallen and Miles could have dealt with that if he hadn’t blames himself for it.

Bass was clutching the dead woman like a doll, hugging her to his chest. There was surprisingly little blood from the hole in her temple and no exit wound, which was also unusual considering that she’d been shot by a .45 caliber handgun. But it had also been a shot from a nearly a hundred yards – well outside the effective distance of the bullet and a damn lucky shot at that, considering that the woman had been aiming a rifle at them that was well inside THAT weapon’s range. Miles hadn’t even seen it until Bass had bellowed, pulled his gun and shot from the saddle – another miracle; clearly, Miles wasn’t meant to die there, even if he had felt the wind from the round as it had passed by his head.

What Bass clearly hadn’t noticed was her swollen belly – four or five months along – and he’d been in a screaming panic; doing CPR, applying pressure and bellowing orders for a surgeon to perform a cesarean – as if the baby would have had any chance of living even if it had still been alive. Everyone had stood back and watched, no one daring to actually try to stop him but no one rushing to obey his orders like they usually did either. Not even Jeremy Baker, and he was usually the first one trying to humor Bass.

Now, he just bawled on his knees, leaving a trail of snot against the woman’s shoulder, clearly realizing what they’d all been fearing for some time. That the Sebastian Monroe they been following for the last eight months wasn’t the same Sebastian Monroe that had helped set up the camps that had saved their lives.

Miles had suspected it from the day Bass had led the raids on the neighboring camp but even he hadn’t realized how scared he had been until now – seeing the real Bass again.

The monster had been what saved him after Shelley had died – Miles had been afraid he’d find Bass dead one day – self inflicted gunshot wound – and had been careful not to leave him alone. He’d noticed Jeremy and Tom Neville – he couldn’t believe they’d barely known Tom then – doing the same but they’d all figured out the new Bass wouldn’t do that. This Bass? Well, Miles hoped his two other friends were up for a suicide watch.

“Come on, Bass?” he finally said, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We need to go. You didn’t have a choice.”

The look Bass gave him nearly broke his heart. . .again. “I had a choice, Miles. I always had a choice.”

“Yeah, you could have let her shoot me.” He hoped the humor would help but the fresh wave of tears was a clear indication he was wrong.

“No, I could have shot myself before this all started. Before people started to hate me.”

Jeremy finally broke out of the circle of people around them, coming up to get a hand under Bass’ arm and levering him up. Bass didn’t actually seem to resist him but once on his feet he staggered like a drunk, wandering between Miles and Bass’ horse. “Come on, Sir, we need to get moving.”

“What we need to do, Jeremy, is bury this woman and find her family.”

“For what reason? So one of them can try to shoot you? I know you don’t seem to give a rat’s ass about that, right now, but the rest of us kind of still give a fuck.”

He might have been broken, but he was still savage, and Miles stepped between them before Bass could reach Jeremy. He staggered back a step, getting an arm around Bass’ waist and his brother screamed over his shoulder as Jeremy danced back out of the way, “For what? For this shiny Republic. Well, fuck the Republic, Jeremy, and fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Jeremy breathed and Miles winced. Jeremy was the most affable man most of the time. But when he finally had enough, he was nearly as bad as Bass. “Fuck me, huh, Bass? And all we’ve done to try to help people. Because that was where it started. And yeah, maybe it gets bad once in a while but do you remember what it was like? Because I sure do. I know it sucks that she was going to have a baby, but no one put a gun to her head and made her shoot at Miles. Would you feel better if she was alive and Miles was dead?”

“Jeremy, that’s enough.” The soft voice of Tom Neville was just above a whisper and Miles felt Bass fold, his head dropped into Miles’ shoulder and he sobbed again and Miles risked a glance behind him to see Jeremy’s fury melt like a man who’d thought he was defending himself against a wolf find he’d actually been just attacking a puppy.

“I can’t do it anymore, Miles,” Bass sobbed and Miles tightened his grip.

“You can’t leave me, Bass.” He was grateful Bass had dropped the .45 but he knew his brother had a .9mm under his coat somewhere and though he didn’t want to take it in front of their people, he was also terrified Bass would decide to use it on himself.

But it was also – so clearly illustrated by the dead woman – not necessarily healthy to be unarmed either.

“Come on, Sir,” Jeremy’s voice had taken on a wheedling tone, back to his more normal mock-formality that usually made Bass smile. “Philadelphia’s expecting us. Governor Corbett’s treaty was very specific -- Pennsylvania lays down arms and surrenders to the Monroe Republic in exchange for being the First State and housing the Capitol. And we won’t make it through the winter without their grain. Even you know that.”

“I don’t care,” Bass muttered around what was probably the equivalent to a mouthful of Miles’ coat and Miles saw Jeremy’s eyes roll.  
“We can’t do this without you. Miles, well, he pisses too many people off. And no one ever really trusts me after I’ve been out of the room for five minutes. The Monroe Republic needs a Monroe.”

Bass head came up suddenly and Miles flinched but Bass made no move to step outside of Miles’ hug. “A Monroe?” He looked a little tired. “Okay, so pick a Monroe. Jeremy?”

“Oh, hell no. No one would buy it.”

“Don’t look at me,” Miles growled, tightening his arms just a little.

“Tom could do it,” a woman’s voice called and Miles recognized Julia Neville as she stepped past the ring of people to go touch her husband on the arm. He looked at started as Miles was but the older man’s face creased in a frown

“Julia, how could I pretend to be Sebastian Monroe?”

“I’m not suggesting that.” The pretty blonde woman’s voice had turned pleading. “Say Sebastian Monroe died of fever and you’re his brother, Tom Monroe.”

“Cousin, maybe,” Jeremy quipped, gesturing between the blue-eyed, blonde Bass and the dark skinned Tom.”

“Cousin,” Julia agreed, her smile turning abruptly approving. Clearly, this was a woman with practice getting her own way.”

“Why lie,” Bass sniffed, but he actually looked a little interested. “I’ve heard the whispers that people are afraid of me. Tell them the truth. My wife died and I lost it and then I killed a woman . . . .” he choked up, and dropped his head back onto Miles shoulder, “and couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Then why lie at all,” Miles said. “Tell them Tom Neville was someone who always took care of his people. So while the Monroe Republic needs a Monroe, it doesn’t have to be the same Monroe. Write it into whatever constitution you come up with. Whoever leads the Republic takes the last name Monroe while he’s in charge.”

“That has some merit,” Jeremy muttered. “All right, Tom, this isn’t a healthy place to linger. Get them moving again.”

It took close to twenty minutes to get the entire convoy moved past them – cavalry, foot-soldiers, supply train and camp followers and Miles got Bass seated on a fallen log out of sight of the dead woman while they collected all sorts of curious stares from passers-by. The rumors had to be going crazy, even on the move and he could only imagine the fireside stories that night.

Tom had evidently given some sort of order because two young privates drove the wagon that had their gear on it up to them but Bass looked away and Miles shook his head. “Got a tent and a couple of sleeping bags in there, boys ?”

“Our own,” one of the boys said, his voice wary and Jeremy shrugged. 

“Toss them down. I’ll make sure you get new ones.” He nodded at the co-driver. “You, go run up and get some food to leave with them.” One of the boys was digging under the seat for an old canvas bag that was caught on something and Jeremy sighed. “For two or three?”

Miles had assumed he’d just been waiting around to get them on their way – Jeremy had been looking forward to occupying a real city for years – and he felt oddly touched but Bass’s watery smile clearly said goodbye.

“Just two, Jeremy,” Bass whispered. “Tom’s going to need you far more than I do. But you have no idea how much it mean.”

He couldn’t tell if Jeremy looked relieved or disappointed but the man quirked his wry smile that Miles suddenly realized he was going to miss. Jeremy might not be his brother like Bass was, but he’d become a very dear friend.

“Go on, get out of here,” Miles rasped, realized he was choking up himself. 

“I’ll keep it warm for you,” Jeremy said. “For both of you.” He knelt down to take Bass’ hands in his. “You take care of Miles, now, you hear. I don’t know what he’d do without you.”

That won a laugh out of Bass, even if he was clearly trying to hold back a sob.

The boy finally managed to get the canvas bag worked out from under the seat as the other boy came running back with a bag that Miles assumed held food. The hadn’t had seen any stragglers for nearly five minutes which meant Jeremy was going to have to hurry to get the wagon caught up and Miles hugged Jeremy one last time before he got back on his horse and chivied the boys and the wagon back on the road.

Someone had evidently picked up the body sometime during the time they’d been waiting, Miles noticed as he got the food tied on one horse and the tent on the other. They’d divide it better later, in case they got split up, but right now – body or not – he wanted to get Bass away from the area.

“So,” he said as he mounted his horse, relieved to note Bass had evidently quit crying – for now. Miles knew his brother well enough to know he’d be doing it again soon and probably not about the woman he’d shot; she’d just been the catalyst for whatever had probably been in Bass’ head for a long time. “What were we doing before we accidently started our own government?”

“We were looking for Ben and Rachel and the kids.”

He’d known that but he’d sometimes wondered if Bass had remembered. “Well, we’ve made progress. Pennsylvania is a lot closer to Chicago than South Carolina was. Come on, let’s go find our family.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to find information about someone selling military equipment on Craigslist and I didn't want to use my own name when I emailed, so I created a fictional email under the name Tom Monroe. No, I was never able to find out if it was equipment they had bought and could legally sell or if was gear they'd had issued to them that should have been returned. I'm inclined to believe the latter since in our emails back and forth about the condition, they never used anything other than the craigslist email that hid their identity from me and I eventually just forwarded the post up to the guys in charge of investigating these sorts of things and never replied to the last email (hence why the fake email. . .if they'd have replied back with their name and contact info, I would have figured they had it legally and wouldn't have forwarded it). But I have this email address for Tom Monroe now and I was thinking about what would ever happen to have Tom Neville take Monroe's last name. And then this story was born.
> 
> I don't know if it's going to be a one-shot, multi-chapter or a series of short fics about more President "Monroe." Maybe a Jeremy Monroe? A Julia Monroe? Kelly Monroe? Even potentially more about Tom Monroe (will he do a better or worse job than Bass. . .no idea). Or perhaps this is the end of it. But I hope you enjoy an brief alternative history of the early years of the "Monroe" Republic.
> 
> After all, it would be a shame to waste such a great flag.


End file.
